


New Dreams

by sesh_khem



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:05:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sesh_khem/pseuds/sesh_khem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abbie and Ichabod greet the New Year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stresspuppies](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=stresspuppies).



> This is the Secret Santa gift for Stresspuppies. Happy New Year!

Abbie woke from unsettling dreams. Again. Seamus’ remedies helped sometimes*. Sometimes she was so exhausted after pulling what seemed like weeks of double shifts, that she collapsed for 16 hours straight. But most nights were like last night; vague impressions of being watched, followed. Even most normal dreams were taken over by unnamable feelings of foreboding. 

She threw off the covers as if she were trying to throw the memory of the dream out of her head, and made her way to the shower. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. 

“Suck it up and get moving, Mills,” she told her reflection. “Everything will be fine.” 

She walked away and turned on the shower, knowing full well she was lying to herself.

***

Ichabod was up at dawn, as he often did in his own time period. It didn’t matter that Lt. Mills would not be there until 8:30, or that he had nothing to do but bathe and eat breakfast. He simply could not stay abed while the sun was up. 

Or that’s what he told himself.

His dreams were troubling him. Visions of the dead Andy Brooks, of the Horseman free of his chains, of Moloch reaching through a mirror to grab his throat. These were repetitions of past dangers and fears of what was to come.

But other dreams—echoes of his childhood or his life with Katrina—these left him shaking with loss. He made his way to the bathing room, wishing there were some way to wash the sights and sounds and smells of the dream from his waking mind.

***

Abbie pulled up to the cabin, expecting to have to knock on the door to get Crane, but to her surprise, he was already waiting for her. As he got in the car, she felt almost irritated—wishing she didn’t have to be here, wanting one day away from Crane. But he could read her like a book, and she prayed he’d be in a gentleman-like mood and not call attention to her state of mind.

After their brusque good mornings, though, Crane seemed to have no desire for conversation, and indeed, once he had his coffee and donut holes in hand, seemed content to look out of his window until they reached the station.

Abbie would have broken the silence if she could have thought of anything to say other than “How’d you sleep?” But that was one topic she did not want to broach.

They arrived at the station to find that Wendy the receptionist had taken down most of the Christmas decorations and replaced them with the Happy New Year banners.

“Geez, is it News Year’s Eve already?” Abbie asked as she approached Wendy’s desk.

“Yup, and I plan to party ‘til dawn,” said Wendy. “What about you? Any plans?”

“Yes, I plan to sleep straight through midnight,” Abbie answered irritably.

She made her way to the office, with Crane following silently. As she sat at her desk and turned on the computer, Crane looked around nervously.

“Lieutenant, if there’s nothing pressing for us this morning, I’d like to go down to the archives and continue my research there.”

Abbie didn’t bother to look up. “Uh, sure. Why not?”

Crane didn’t answer but bowed slightly before practically running out of the room.

***

The work day was a long one. It was mostly research, but included a call to serve as back-up to a burglary. Abbie shut down her computer and steeled herself for collecting Crane, determined to attempt more civility than she displayed that morning. She gathered her things, and didn’t hear as Crane approached her. He cleared his throat.

She jumped, startled. “Oh! There you are. Ready to go?”

“Ah, yes. I…”

“What is it Crane?”

“Would you…that is…I do not know what this century’s customs are regarding the New Year celebrations—”

“Oh,” she answered. “People generally have large, loud parties and drink way too much. I’m lucky our assignment means I don’t have to be out there tonight, arresting drunk drivers—”

“I thought perhaps you and I, if it is agreeable to you, might order some of that “take-away” you enjoy. And perhaps some rum? To ring in the New Year.”

She sighed. “I don’t know, Crane. I—” 

He held up a hand. “I would not wish to intrude upon any other plans—”

She shook her head. “No plans.”

“Then I invite you to join me this evening.” He took a step closer. “Lieutenant, our lives are constantly in danger. We have lost much and stand to lose even more in this war. Can we not pause and celebrate the hope of the New Year to come? And I would celebrate it with you, my companion through the challenges ahead.”

She looked up at him. His expression seemed only to reflect her own exhaustion and uncertainty.

“Sure,” she said with a tired smile. “We’ll celebrate.” 

***

They spent the evening at the cabin, playing card games, eating Indian take-out, and drinking Crane’s favorite brand of rum. Abbie turned on CNN and tried (and failed) to explain the notion of a “ball drop” as well as the creative banter of the hosts. They laughed and even sang, and counted down the seconds until midnight.

“Happy New Year!” they shouted, along with the hordes of people in New York’s Time Square. They hugged, laughing.

Neither of them let go. Abbie felt tears sting her eyes and tried to blink them away. Finally, she pulled herself from his arms and kissed his cheek. When she sat back, she looked at him with a sad smile. He nodded, mirroring her expression, and took her hand and kissed it.

“Happy New Year, Abbie.”

“Happy New Year, Crane.” She squeezed his hand. “We’ll be okay. We can do this.”

“Yes,” he replied, not sounding completely convinced. He stood up.

“Come. I will find extra blankets and you may sleep in the spare room.”

They each settled in for the night, and in the morning, whether it was because of the rum or something else, they both woke from a dreamless sleep, ready to face the new day and the New Year.

**Author's Note:**

> *Seamus Duncan was the car salesman/shaman from "For the Triumph of Evil."


End file.
